Of Skulls, Butterflies, and Tattoos
by Big Nerd
Summary: Sherlock finds out something about his pathologist that he wasn't expecting. It seems like Molly Hooper is a constant surprise. Prompt fill.


A/N: This was a prompt fill for both Navy Babe (Sundance201 on Tumblr) and WritingxEqualsxHappiness. Navy Babe suggested "butterfly" and WritingxEqualsxHappiness suggested "skull". Thanks for the one word prompts! Also, this wasn't beta'd, sorry! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave me a little review! Thanks!

Sherlock Holmes had been living with Molly Hooper for roughly about a week before he discovered something about her that he would never have deduced. It happened on one of Molly's few days off. She had woken up a bit later than usual, reveling in the feel of her sheets, the rare sunshine coming in through the crack between her curtains, shining on her face. She got up out of bed and walked into her kitchen, putting on her light robe over her sleep shorts and tank top. It was the middle of June and the weather had been a bit warmer than usual for London, leaving Molly to sleep in the tiniest clothing she owned. As she turned the corner. she eyed Sherlock lying on his back on her couch, his arms behind his head, eyes closed although she knew he wasn't sleeping.

"Morning", Molly mumbled. Not being a morning person, that was as cheery as she would get before her first cup of coffee.

"Black. Two sugars".

Molly rolled her eyes. "Oh, good morning, Molly! How did you sleep? I hope I didn't wake you last night when I spent more than three hours pacing the living room and rearranging your kitchen", Molly grumbled sarcastically as she moved around her small kitchen, collecting all the necessary things for coffee and toast.

Spinning around with a lost look on her face, Molly started opening up all of her cupboards in search for her kettle. After opening at least 4 cabinets, she found the forsaken kettle on the highest shelf, shoved all the way at the back, obviously a result of Sherlock's late night spring cleaning.

"Sherlock! Why the bloody hell is my kettle all the way at the back? Not everyone is as tall as you!" She got on her tip toes in hopes of being able to reach the necessary object, cursing under her breath as she failed to reach it. As Molly was stretching her arms overhead, her little tank top rode up a bit, revealing a few inches of skin above the low waistband of her shorts.

"I merely rearranged the contents of your cupboards to followy a more effective method of storage."

From his spot on the couch, Sherlock amusedly watched Molly desperately try to grab the kettle, being too stubborn to get on a chair or step stool. His eyes swept over her body, from her long brown hair, currently in a messy bun at the top of her head, over her long neck, down the line of her back, the curve of her rear end, her long (for someone so short) legs and her tiny feet. Sherlock had never denied himself the fact that he thought Molly attractive, he just suppressed those feelings as they interfered with his work. It didn't mean that he didn't like watching her or that he didn't like appreciating Molly's body. As his eyes made their way back up to her face, he noticed the inch of exposed skin, specifically a hint of what looked like something painted on her hip. Squinting his eyes, he noticed that the patch of skin was fairly colorful, and that it was just the tip of something that had the rest covered by her sleep shorts.

After a few minutes of wondering what that possibly could be, Sherlock's eyes widened as he realized what he had just caught a glimpse of. Rising up off the couch, Sherlock sauntered his way into the kitchen, reached up, grabbed the kettle and placed it in front of Molly.

"Thank you. But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't rearrange my kitchen. Did you really have to put the kettle all the way up there?"

"How long have you had it?"

Molly looked up at him confused. "The kettle? I don't know, a few years. My dad bought it for me because he thought I would like the color. What, do you not drink coffee or tea made from a kettle that's a bit more than 5 years old?"

"The tattoo, Molly. I don't care about the damn kettle. For how long have you had the tattoo?"

Molly froze, her eyes widened and her cheeks turned a bright red. "Oh that silly thing? That was - that was a result of a crazy, drunken night during my first year at uni. It was the first and only time I ever allowed myself to get that drunk. I was young and stupid and the next morning I woke up under my flatmate's desk with that on my hip. It's nothing."

"If you think it's so silly, then why haven't you gotten it removed?"

"Well, I never got around to doing it. The rest of the time I was at uni, I focused on my studies and never really went out again. I was so wrapped up in pathology and then I graduated and I got my job at Bart's right after finishing school that I just haven't had the time. And, I may or may not have grown attached to it. Apparently, drunk me knows what sober me likes."

Sherlock shrugged, feigning disinterest. "Good enough. How about that coffee?" Molly hurriedly made both of them coffee and toast as Sherlock sat at her table, pretending to read the paper, but actually watching Molly flit around getting breakfast together. Never would he have deduced that Molly, quiet, shy, mousy Molly, had a tattoo. It just didn't seem to fit in with her personality. He smirked as Molly was constantly surprising him, first with her deduction of him before the fall and now with this new little secret of hers. He had a faint idea of what she had imprinted on her skin but he wanted confirmation from her first. Before he could lay the topic to rest, Sherlock had one more question that he was burning to ask her.

As they both sat down to eat, Molly felt Sherlock's eyes burn into her. Looking up at him with questioning eyes, she waited for him to ask her what he so obviously wanted to ask. "Well, spit it out Sherlock. What's wrong?"

Only slightly hesitating, Sherlock asked, "what does sober you like?"

Smiling, Molly stood up from the table, pulled her tank top up a bit and lowered her shorts enough to show Sherlock what she permanently had inked on her skin. There, low on her right hip, was a skull with its hollow eyes and toothy smile. Perched on top of the skull were two delicate monarch butterflies, their elegant wings orange, black and white, one smaller than the other. The larger one's upper wing being what was showing from above Molly's shorts. He had to admit, the tattoo was perfect for Molly. It showed both her more morbid side, the side that thrives through her job as pathologist, as well as her softer, delicate side, the one that loves pink, kittens, and romance novels. Sherlock nodded his head after examining the image tattooed onto Molly's skin, silently storing it in her room in his mind palace. Looking in her eyes and with a smirk on his face he said "I knew it".


End file.
